


minor inconveniences

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Common Cold, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Kanan Jarrus Lives, M/M, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Not Season/Series 02 Compliant, Pining, Post-Series, Post-Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Romantic Gestures, Sick Character, Sickfic, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 21:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15958133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: There’d been Jedi healers back in the day who never got sick, knew all sorts of techniques that ensured their immune systems remained in the highest working order. Maybe he could meditate away the burgeoning pain in his joints, the hoarse dryness of his throat, the breathy rattle in his lungs. That would have been nice.Whatever he was going to do, though, he needed Ezra out of his hair for it.





	minor inconveniences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DuaeCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuaeCat/gifts).



For the most part, Kanan didn’t do sick. A sniffle here or there, a cough, a sore throat. Half a day of nuisance quickly tossed over with a dose of antivirals to keep the flu at bay and back to work it was. That, at least, was how it worked on the _Ghost._ Since Hera kept meticulous inventories and made sure her ship was stocked with everything an overzealous physician might require on a medical frigate and then some, Kanan had never really had to worry about it before. Stuck as he was on the ass-end of the Outer Rim for at least another galactic standard week, it was entirely possible Kanan was screwed.

“What are you doing in here?” Ezra poked his head into the ‘fresher, practically hung off the frame as he swung in to get a better look around. Kanan merely held out his hand and pushed at Ezra’s forehead with the Force, a gentle nudge that Ezra refused to take to heart. Huffing, Ezra only gripped harder and went with it, rocking back and laughing. It wasn’t the most masterly of displays, but there was a headache throbbing behind Kanan’s eyes and a hitch in his breath that signaled before too long, he’d be hacking something up.

Great. Wonderful. Just—the perfect way to start this mission-slash-vacation-slash-Jedi-retreat. It wasn’t like Kanan hadn’t cajoled, begged, and made embarrassing promises to command just to ensure he and Ezra got to spend some time focusing on themselves rather than everything else that was going on in the galaxy. No, not at all. Sure, he could’ve demanded some time and implied it was Very Important Jedi Business and no one would have batted an eyelash, but he hadn’t wanted to shirk his duties entirely. There was only so much lying he was willing to do. And anyway, Ezra would’ve gnawed his own arms off if the only thing Kanan had in mind was Jedi training. At least this way, they were doing something useful for the nascent New Republic, too, and Ezra would only grumble the usual amount instead of twice as often.

“Nothing,” Kanan replied, metaphorically clearing the air with the utterly indifferent wave of his hand. Totally, utterly indifferent. And not the least bit weary. “Don’t you have any unpacking to do?”

“Already done.” Sharp shadows chased Ezra’s bangs around his forehead as he shook his head. “And the slicer program’s already broken into Imperial comm channels. We’re good to go.”

Kanan straightened, brushing his palms down his torso. They were already slick with sweat and had more than once slipped against the brushed metal of the sink. “I’m impressed,” he said, dry, though it wasn’t far from the truth either. Every day brought Ezra more and more responsibilities and, barring the occasional hiccup along the way, he always measured up and then exceeded himself. “Well done, Ezra.”

Ezra’s brows furrowed. “Yeah, about that…”

Frowning, Kanan peered at him. He let go of his grip on the sink and took a few steps forward. They’d never be eye-level, but it wasn’t quite as easy to look down at Ezra as it used to be. “We’ve been here an hour. Maybe,” he said, finally pinching the bridge of his nose. He was intimately familiar with Ezra’s attempts to soften the delivery of bad news and this stank of it. He still wasn’t very good at it. “What could possibly have gone wrong already?”

Then Ezra huffed again, blowing all that stray hair out of his face. But when Kanan looked back up at him, he was grinning. Darting forward, Ezra slapped him on the shoulder. Kanan almost, almost grabbed hold of him around the neck to teach him a thing or two about how to handle a surprise attack. Taking him by surprise always taught him something one way or the other.

Then again, his balance maybe wasn’t the greatest right now. That wasn’t the kind of surprise he wanted to spring on Ezra.

“Nothing,” Ezra said, grinning, so at ease that Kanan ached to be that carefree himself. Ezra had always been so resilient, so quick to rebound from every setback. Kanan could learn a thing or two from him on that score still. “Nothing has gone wrong yet. You just need to learn how to relax.”

“Uh huh. In case you haven’t noticed, every time I try to relax, something gets blown up.”

Ezra’s shoulders bunched and lifted under his flight suit. He raised his hands, palm out, a trust-me gesture that Kanan knew better than to believe, especially from Ezra. “That’s because Chopper’s always around.” Eyebrows waggling, he tried out that brilliant grin of his again, the one that gave Kanan no end of trouble even as he tamped down on the flutter of nerves it game him. “And in case you didn’t notice, we’re the only ones here.”

With a groan, Kanan shook his head and crowded Ezra back out into the hallway. He needed a few minutes to himself, get his act together. Having Ezra around was a challenge at the best of times. And these were not the best of times.

There’d been Jedi healers back in the day who never got sick, knew all sorts of techniques that ensured their immune systems remained in the highest working order. Maybe he could meditate away the burgeoning pain in his joints, the hoarse dryness of his throat, the breathy rattle in his lungs. That would have been nice.

Whatever he was going to do, though, he needed Ezra out of his hair for it. “Since you’ve so diligently finished unpacking your stuff, why don’t you get started on mine? I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

Ever irrepressible, Ezra snapped off a sloppy salute and backed toward the main communications center, their home for the next week or two. “Right-o, Captain Jarrus, sir. I’ll get right on that.”

Kanan knew for a fact that Ezra would be doing no such thing for him, not unless he made it an order. He laughed, rueful.

And then that laugh turned into a cough. A long enough one that he had to take deep, gulping breaths at the end of it. Cupping his hand under the tap, he downed a few palms’ full of water. He didn’t feel any better at the end of it than he had before, though, and he didn’t anticipate feeling any better just standing here either, not even if he kept it up for the duration of the mission.

Damn.

Dragging himself back to the command center, he tried to pretend his head wasn’t full of fog and that he wasn’t constantly on the verge of hacking up an important bit of viscera, but each step only made him more aware that he was going to be in for a world of hurt. And sooner rather than later. A hazard of the galaxy, he supposed. There were all sorts of diseases to pick up and you could only develop so much immunity to them before one got the better of you. He wondered where this one had come from, which of the last few planets they’d been to had decided to stick its viral claws in him and cling on.

Biting back a grimace, he took a seat near Ezra and poked at the console before him. The only bit of luck he had in this whole thing was the fact that at least this assignment was easy. No hard physical labor. No threat of enemy combatants raining down hell on them. Just a whole lot of sitting and listening and doing nothing. If he was very careful and very good and very lucky, Ezra wouldn’t even notice. No reason to worry him. And he would worry. Ezra always worried. About everything. And everyone.

Sometimes, too much.

Kanan still hadn’t figured out how to remedy that. It wasn’t like he didn’t suffer from the same.

“Good of you to finally join us,” Ezra said, draping himself across the back of his chair, twisting it slowly back and forth with the toes of his boots. His hands curled under his chin and he peered curiously at Kanan. It made Kanan’s nerves crawl.

Ezra really was getting to be too smart for his own good.

“Stow it,” Kanan said, affecting the kind of gruff, good-natured tone that Ezra would surely expect from him.

Ezra sing-songed his way through his retort, a childish repeat of Kanan’s own words, and got back to work. Once, he might have decided to continue annoying Kanan for the fun of it, poking and prodding just to get a reaction. Now, he knew the value of holding back. It didn’t mean Kanan was any safer—if Ezra got something in his mind, he was more tenacious than any wampa—but it did mean Kanan could relax for at least a little while.

Sure, he wasn’t exactly accomplishing much, but he didn’t exactly felt like he had to die either.

A little while turned into the rest of the day turned into the most of the evening. Enough so that he was able to mostly forget about his aches and pains and focus on nothing at all instead.

It was, Kanan thought, far more than he expected, but less than he felt he deserved.

_Maybe it’s just a touch of space sickness_ , Kanan also thought. _And I’ll be fine in the morning._

He coughed into his elbow as discreetly as he could.

_And maybe the Emperor was a bunch of loth-cats in a robes._

Rubbing his temple, he at least made a token effort at corroborating the first set of reports coming in with intel already on file. The program the slicers had written for them picked key words from the chatter while Kanan watched. His vision didn’t swim exactly, but the bright green of the text made his head ache and his eyes itch and he definitely wanted to be doing anything other than sit here while the comm station before him beeped and buzzed away, giving up all sorts of scintillating secrets Kanan didn’t have the energy to care all that much about, like the minutiae of patrols a whole sector away, the dredges of the bureaucratic hell that was the broken Imperial machine writ in hundreds, thousands of tiny bursts.

Next time, Kanan was definitely going to rethink his decision to get Ezra and himself some time for themselves. Clearly the Force had a mean streak in it that Kanan didn’t like too much. Sure, they were alone and the work would mostly do itself, but Kanan couldn’t exactly enjoy it right now, could he?

The point, insofar as Kanan was concerned, had been enjoyment.

But so far, the joke was on him.

*

_Bang bang bang._

Kanan woke with a start, bleary, brain muddled and mouth drier than Lothal in the summer. He reached for his lightsaber—or tried to—and merely groaned as every muscle in his body let him know all at once just how unhappy they were with him. Then he realized, still half unaware, that he and Ezra were alone. On an abandoned base. In a place where the possibilities of danger were limited by how much trouble Ezra could get them into.

He was, then, fine. Or fine enough.

He didn’t need his lightsaber.

_Bang bang bang_.

“Kanan, you in there?” The voice was muffled by the thick durasteel door, but was unmistakable all the same. And even despite the blurry, imprecise blend the door made of that voice, Kanan could still detect the concern in it. Ezra. Of course. “You’d better be in there.”

As quickly as he could, Kanan pushed himself upright. Of course, he regretted it immediately, brain feeling like it was sloshing around in his skull, but he at least had enough time to smooth and tie his hair back before Ezra burst through the door and caught him huddled under his blankets.

A frigid gust of air hit Kanan in the face.

His skin prickled. Was it colder in here than it had been last night? He would’ve sworn it wasn’t…

Ezra didn’t come in with lightsaber blazing at least, but there was a crazed look in his eye that maybe, possibly suggested he’d considered every worst-case scenario on the other side of that door before talking himself down. “Oh,” he said, nonchalant. He crossed his arms and leaned against the inside of the door now closed behind him, seemingly imperturbable. “So pirates didn’t spirit you off in the middle of the night.”

Squinting, Kanan frowned. Ezra was ridiculous. Always had been, but right now… “Was there really any danger of that?”

Though Ezra shrugged, he didn’t say anything else for a long moment. “When it’s you? Who knows?”

Kanan couldn’t say he was annoyed exactly, but frustration licked through his awareness anyway. He was tired. He was cold enough to be shivering. His eyes felt like they were going to fall out of his head if his head pulsed any harder than it already was. And Ezra pestering him wasn’t helping, not in the slightest. “I’m fine, Ezra. If I have to swear on every Jedi ruin that exists, I will.”

Ezra squinted and tilted his head. As far as Kanan could tell, he didn’t buy it for a minute.”No, there’s definitely something wrong. Your cheeks are all…” His hand splayed before his eyes, gesturing in a circular motion to indicate the entirety of his head. “…pink.” He cleared his throat and tugged at the hem of his jacket, tipping his head up. “They’re pink. You’re sick, aren’t you? And you were trying to hide it yesterday. I thought it was just space sickness or something, but you don’t sleep through that.”

If not for the waves of pain lapping at the base of his skull, he’d have rolled his eyes. _Wouldn’t that have been nice?_

“You’re imagining things. I just overslept,” he said in response, not even a little bit amused. And now whatever flush Ezra saw was deepened with more than whatever it was currently entrenching itself in his head, his lungs, his stomach. Great. Just—fantastic. “Why are you staring at my cheeks anyway, Ezra?”

That—well. He hadn’t meant to ask that. And not in that particular way regardless. It wasn’t exactly a delicate question, was it? And it wasn’t a question he really wanted a firm answer for, not when he already knew the answer. Ezra noticed because Ezra had learned how to notice things. He wasn’t noticing because—because Kanan wanted him to pay that much attention to how Kanan looked. No. Jedi weren’t vain. And they certainly weren’t in the market for… anyone to notice when they were flushed or not. Nope. Not even a little bit.

Standing and manfully pretending his muscles weren’t screaming at him for it, he grabbed hold of Ezra’s shirt and palmed open the door at the same time. Then, pushing him out, he said, “Get to work, huh? I’ll be out soon enough. And stop—”

Ezra stared up at him, waiting for Kanan to finish his thought.

But Kanan really didn’t know what he wanted to say. His thumb and forefinger pressed at the inside corners of his eyes, rubbing sleep from them. “Don’t worry about me. I just haven’t been sleeping well.” And that was true. More than that, it was plausible. And it didn’t have anything to do with him being sick. “Really.”

Ezra’s mouth twisted unhappily, but he nodded and did as he was asked for the second time in as many days.

Kanan pretended it was a good thing that Ezra did so.

Deep down inside, he knew it wasn’t. When Ezra retreated, it was only because he had a plan or was in the process of making one. And that was always a bad thing.

Next time, he would definitely be packing the same kit Hera kept on the _Ghost_. Just to ensure nothing like this happened again.

*

Ezra’s eyes tracked his progress across the room as he entered. If his cheeks weren’t already blazing, they’d certainly have warmed under the careful determination of Ezra’s attention here and now. It was all he could do to keep moving without stumbling simply because he was so aware of everything when Ezra looked at him like that. His gait, his posture, the glassiness of his gaze. All of it Ezra would be able to see and that was the last thing Kanan wanted at that moment.

Besides, there was no point to the flicker of Ezra’s interest as he passed, after all, and being smothered with attention wouldn’t make his headache recede any quicker. It just made Kanan nervous.

So there was no reason for Ezra to peer at him so closely. Again. Already. “You didn’t catch enough of an eyeful back at my quarters?” Kanan ground out, more serious than he intended to be. It was supposed to be a lighthearted jab, but it came out a little more gritty than that, a little more resentful. It wasn’t Ezra’s fault that Kanan felt so awful, but Ezra was the only one here to absorb the brunt of his frustration with the situation.

If only he’d stop staring.

Whatever it was Kanan said—or perhaps merely how he said it—Ezra’s head snapped around and his focus turned entirely to the console still spitting out Imperial secrets. He hunched forward slightly and somehow Kanan knew he’d… well, it wouldn’t have been the first time he hurt Ezra’s feelings and it wouldn’t be the last. Every inch of him wanted to let it go, let it fester; Ezra would get over it soon enough and be back to his usual self before too long anyway. “Ezra, I’m—”

“It’s fine!” he replied, too quickly. Kanan might not have been at his best at the moment, but he wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t realize he’d made a mistake. “I’m fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine, right?” Ezra’s shoulders rounded even more acutely, like he’d taken a hit to the gut and needed to protect his midsection. He muttered something that Kanan couldn’t hear and didn’t dare think too hard about. “I think I’m gonna take a break.”

Before Kanan could launch even the most token of protests, Ezra was on his feet and shooting toward the door, not even offering a farewell over his shoulder as he went.

Kanan couldn’t exactly say he was flabbergasted, but he couldn’t explain what just happened either. It felt as natural as breathing, this sudden burst of disappointment, of the need to get away. Whatever it was Kanan had poked at—and he still didn’t know exactly what it was—it was serious and he was in no good position to guide Ezra back from his struggle with it.

A thought prodded at the back of his mind, persistent and ridiculous. It was, at best, an annoyance to be swatted away and so Kanan did just that.

Still.

If Kanan didn’t know better, he’d…

No.

There was no reason to go there. Just like before. It hadn’t changed in the hours since the last time Kanan thought, _what if…_

But he’d already embarrassed Ezra more than he should have; he didn’t need to compound that by making assumptions that said more about Kanan than they ever would about Ezra.

This was why he hated being sick; if he was entirely healthy, none of this would have happened. If his head didn’t already ache, he’d have banged it against the console before him, but even he could only allow himself so much self-indulgence. Beating his head against the nearest hard surface wouldn’t make Ezra feel any better.

There was nothing for it; he’d have to apologize. It was the least Ezra deserved.

When he got to his feet, though, his brain had other ideas. His awareness went prickly and light. His blood pounded in his ears, the only sound left in the universe. His sight brightened and darkened in turns and he swayed with such force that he had to wrap his fingers around the back of his chair to stay upright. Okay, so. Apology later. For now…

For now, he’d just—sit for a minute and catch his breath.

*

“Kanan?” A voice. A shove. His name again. The voice belonged to Ezra. Kanan would know it anywhere. But he heard it through a shroud or from the far end of a long tunnel. He tried to swat at the voice, but all he succeeded in doing was earning another shove.

“Stop it.” His throat felt like it had been sandblasted and his voice had to claw and scratch its way out of his mouth. His tongue darted out to ineffectually wet his lips. His hand struck solid torso and pushed, but it didn’t work very well given the wall of warmth that continued to stand very near. “Ezra, go away.”

There was an aching indent in his forehead where he’d apparently fallen asleep against the console.

“Yeah,” Ezra answered, light, more like normal. “I don’t think so.” Kanan didn’t know how long he’d been gone—or how long Kanan himself had been out—but it must’ve been long enough for Ezra to clear his head apparently. By the time Kanan looked up at him, bleary-eyed, he was already hauling Kanan to his feet, levering Kanan against his side.

“Ezra…” He hadn’t hurt his legs, for stars’ sake; he could walk unaided. Ezra didn’t need to drag him halfway across the base, his weight almost entirely borne on Ezra’s shoulders. But Kanan couldn’t entirely deny how much he liked feeling Ezra at his side. He’d never be all that tall, definitely not as tall as Kanan, but he’d broadened some since they began training and he was definitely stronger. “I’m not an invalid.”

“Uh huh.” Ezra grunted slightly and adjusted his grip on Kanan’s side. His hand slid down Kanan’s ribs and settled against his waist, a token gesture toward Kanan’s insistence that he could walk on his own. “So I didn’t catch you passed out on your console barely able to breathe?”

“I wasn’t—”

“—I can still read the key your cheek mashed into when you decided a nap with a duraplast pillow would be a good idea and you don’t normally snore quite that… robustly. Sorry if I don’t believe you anymore, Kanan.” He added, under his breath, “Not that I really believed you before, either.”

Kanan sighed. That was pretty damning evidence. “Fine,” he said, gruff. “I caught a cold or something. Big deal. I can still—”

“You can rest,” Ezra said, no arguments brooked. His tone, clipped, told Kanan everything he needed to know.

A throb of affection worked its way through Kanan despite itself. Ezra always had been protective. He’d take on whatever he had to to keep Kanan safe. And of course Kanan would do the same, but there wasn’t much a person could do to fight the common cold. Not without medication or special training, which neither Kanan nor Ezra had. “I can do my job,” Kanan replied finally.

Though Kanan didn’t see it, he was certain that Ezra rolled his eyes at that. And he couldn’t help but smile a little bit in response to Ezra’s pique. “There’s plenty of time for that,” Ezra said, entirely reasonable. “Just—do this for me, please.”

Sighing, Kanan nodded his head. The weight of sleep tugged, demanding, on Kanan’s eyelids. A break would be nice. He could admit that much to himself. As they trudged toward Kanan’s quarters, the need became almost overwhelming. Turning his head, he tried to avoid yawning. There was no reason to give Ezra more ammunition.

He didn’t succeed. Their walk seemed to take eternity and Kanan was almost dead on his feet by the time they actually made it to his quarters. His boots scuffed against the floor and he nearly stumbled once. But only a few moments later, Ezra guided him to his bed and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Boots off,” he said as Kanan groaned and leaned forward to help while he crouched at the end of the bed. Kanan only succeeded in getting swatted away. Ezra’s hands were gentle as he tugged the footwear free. His fingers pressed lightly against each ankle bone in turn.

He stood and bit his lip, some grand argument playing out silently across his face. “You can’t be comfortable,” he said after a moment’s consideration. Kanan wanted to tell him that it wouldn’t really matter in a few minutes, but Ezra was too quick and his hands took hold of his tunic, pulling it over his head before Kanan could even argue. His skin tightened in the chill of the air and goose pimples broke out across his arms.

Though his teeth didn’t quite chatter, he did shiver. He almost snatched his tunic back, but then Ezra stooped to rummage around in the bed stand at the head of the bed and drew out a fresh tunic and a pair of leggings. “Here,” Ezra said, “these should be more comfortable.” He eyed Kanan and bit his lip. “I’ll help you up if you need it.”

“I don’t,” Kanan replied, peevish, a snap in his voice that he didn’t particularly like. Ezra was just being nice. The fact that Kanan didn’t want Ezra touching him right now was entirely Kanan’s issue. His limbs ached as he dragged on the shirt and he almost wished Ezra were doing the bulk of the work for him.

It was the leggings that were tricky and where Kanan finally accepted the hand that now hovered near Kanan’s body, Ezra’s arm steady as he helped hold Kanan steady. His touch blazed against Kanan’s clammy skin, so much better than any tunic at warming him. And wasn’t that something? It wasn’t like they never touched, but right now…

Right now, it felt like nobody could reach him the way Ezra did.

_You fool_ , Kanan thought. _You complete and utter—_

Obviously it was just the fact that he was sick, that was it. That was the only thing that explained the heavy weight in his chest, the aching void of need that sat where his acceptance of reality should have been. They were nothing less than Jedi Knight and Padawan learner. There was no greater relationship in the galaxy, no more important bond. But a part of Kanan—a selfish, searching, seething part—wanted as much of Ezra’s touch as Ezra would allow.

Ezra’s hand tightened around Kanan’s elbow as he pulled him upright. “Kanan? You okay?”

“I’m fine.” And if Kanan’s voice was too gruff, he could blame it on a sore throat. But though Kanan tried to shrug out of Ezra’s grasp, Ezra refused to give in. “Ezra!”

“You’re shaking.”

“You ever heard of chills?”

“You’re not normally this grumpy when you’re sick,” Ezra said, either genuinely unbothered by Kanan’s foul mood or pretending to be. That was impressive. Normally he was a little more sensitive than that. Or at least more likely to complain right back. Regardless, the sympathy only made Kanan feel that much worse. It wasn’t Ezra’s fault, after all, that Kanan was… feeling the way he was.

And not just on account of being sick, no.

Most of the time, he could keep the rest of what he felt under wraps. That was a Jedi’s whole life. Mastering emotion, need, the selfish calls of the body and mind. They sacrificed their egos for the betterment of beings across the galaxy as a whole. The Jedi were long dead and Kanan couldn’t say they’d ever been right in every particular, but there was still cleanup to do and Ezra still had so much to learn. He didn’t need Kanan muddying that up with—

Feelings. Romantic feelings. The kind of feelings that made Kanan want to reach out and wrap his fingers around Ezra’s wrist, feel his pulse beneath his lips, make Ezra shudder in ways that had nothing to do with chills or the cold or being sick. Or, well, he would want those things if he wasn’t sick enough that even thinking about anything other than closing his eyes was too strenuous. But in theory. He wanted it.

He’d wanted it for a while now.

“It came on quick, huh?” Ezra said, far too kind for Kanan’s liking.

“You could say that.” He grabbed hold of Ezra’s arm anyway, balancing as he changed into the fresh set of leggings. Refusing to feel any more shame than he already did, he completed the act quickly and as competently as a man who’d lost his ability to stand up without guidance could. Before he could sit back down, Ezra was pulling back the sheets.

“Feels better, doesn’t it?” With gentle hands, he pressed Kanan back onto the bed. This time, he didn’t bother arguing. “Sometimes I do know what I’m talking about.”

“Rarely.”

It spoke to Ezra’s character that Kanan’s particular brand of churlishness only succeeded in drawing an upward quirk of his mouth and a pat on the shoulder. Kanan wanted him to stay, but he didn’t dare ask. It wouldn’t have mattered much anyway. Before he’d even had the chance to bite back a yawn, he was already falling asleep.

He didn’t even sense Ezra leave the room.

*

He woke, body aching and head splitting into two, in the semi-darkness. Unsure of the time, he groaned and groped for—for something. His chrono had to have been somewhere around here…

“Oh, good.” And the sound of Ezra’s voice punched through his skull like an awl, sharp and undeniable. He stood over Kanan, a tray in his hands. Myriad scents accosted Kanan’s senses and he nearly reared back in revulsion. Normally, when he was sick, he couldn’t smell anything, but right now… Ezra preceded without noticing anything amiss.”You’re awake.”

“How long was I asleep?” There was a graveled edge to his voice that he didn’t like. Even just saying a handful of words felt like he was dragging his throat through rocky shards. Ezra pressed a glass into his hand, warm, scented with something Kanan didn’t quite recognize. It held a hint of sweetness and a touch of citrus. The liquid inside was pale almost to the point of colorlessness. Kanan dutifully drank it, leaning forward as best he could, expecting nothing and finding that, though it didn’t magically cure his suddenly sore throat, it didn’t hurt going down either. When he spoke again, he sounded a little bit more like himself. “Thanks.”

“Uh huh,” Ezra replied. “You maybe want to sit up? I have something for you.”

Kanan struggled upward and failed utterly at it, enough so that Ezra merely sighed at him and placed the tray on the bed stand. “You’re useless,” he muttered, though fond, and pulled Kanan upright, sliding his hands behind Kanan’s back to fluff the pillow up. As though Kanan weren’t even there, he added, “Better.”

“Ezra, I’m not really…” Though Kanan wasn’t currently experiencing nausea—thank the Force—the thought of eating was a little more than Kanan was interested in considering. But the way Ezra was looking at him, wholly expectant and not a little worried, made Kanan rethink the rest of that sentence. He might not have been hungry, no, but even he knew the value of eating something now. As much as he wanted to deny it.

If their situations were reversed, Kanan would definitely have harassed Ezra into at least taking a bit of food. “Fine,” he said, sighing heavily, taking the spoon from Ezra before he got any ideas about feeding Kanan himself. He smirked at Kanan, like he knew what Kanan was thinking, but he gave up the utensil.

Instead of handing Kanan the bowl, however, Ezra sat on the edge of the bed and shifted slightly. The broth inside the bowl sloshed a little, its steam wafting toward the ceiling. If Kanan felt better, he might have groused about the possibility of hot liquid spilling, but since no harm came of Ezra’s movements, he stayed quiet. Smiling like he knew that Kanan was behaving himself in this way, too, he held out the bowl for Kanan. Though Kanan tried to focus on it, mostly he was concerned with how close Ezra sat. His knee brushed Kanan’s hip and the way he stretched did nothing so much as give Kanan an eyeful of the bunching muscles of his shoulders. Training had honed him into…

Kanan shook his head. _Definitely not the time_.

Not that it would ever be the time.

He took the bowl from Ezra’s hands, cool against Kanan’s overheated skin. The longer he held it, the more it warmed.

“You really do look terrible,” Ezra said, and it wasn’t conversational at all. He looked sad, worried. Unhappy at the thought. He reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair Kanan’s hair behind his ear. The shudder that coursed through Kanan had almost nothing to do with how bad he felt. Ezra stilled, fingers almost grazing the protrusion of bone behind Kanan’s ear. “Sorry, I—”

He looked away and though the lights were still low, his cheeks grew a little darker. An answering flush bloomed in Kanan’s own cheeks, and he couldn’t help tightening his fist around his spoon to keep from doing something stupid, like grab Ezra’s wrist and insist that he keep touching Kanan.

“Sorry,” Ezra said again, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m just gonna…”

“Ezra, wait,” Kanan said before Ezra could take more than a handful of steps toward the door. He had to fix this. Biting back a groan, he placed the bowl on the bed stand. The spoon clattered next to it, but Kanan didn’t care. Every part of him ached, but he swung his legs over the side of the bed anyway.

“You should eat,” Ezra insisted. “I’m just going to…”

Kanan watched him closely, saw the way he fumbled with his words.

“…I forgot the bread,” Ezra finished weakly. “You can’t eat _pilathir_ soup without bread.” He brushed his fingers through the long strands of his hair. They fell back into place as though he hadn’t mussed them at all. “I’ll be back. You just—stay there.” Nodding, decisive, he took another pair of experimental steps back. This time, Kanan didn’t stop him. He wanted to though.

He said, “You’ll come back?”

Ezra lifted his palms as he backed toward the door. “In a few minutes. Promise.” But there was a hint of something in his eyes—regret maybe or concern. The kind of thing Kanan would probably have been better at figuring out if he weren’t so sick. If he weren’t so sick, he might have asked. Or at least let Ezra go and not feel sorry for himself for wanting Ezra to have stayed even this little bit of time.

He normally wasn’t this… how he was acting.

And he didn’t particularly like it. It wasn’t very respectable, was it? No, it was pathetic was what it was. Pathetic to go along with how he was feeling. Groaning, he squeezed shut his eyes and breathed deeply. The scent of the soup Ezra had… how had Ezra gotten the soup anyway? It certainly wasn’t part of their rations as such. Sure, he could’ve put something together from the supplies they brought, but that meant…

Kriff.

He reached for the bowl again, grabbed the spoon, and forced himself to eat. As far as such things went, it wasn’t bad. In fact, were he better able to taste anything, he’d have said it was good.

Ezra had… cooked for him. Ezra, who went out of his way to avoid anything that remotely looked like preparing a meal. Ezra, who might have once or twice or thirty times mentioned that he didn’t like cooking. Well. Wasn’t that something?

If Kanan wasn’t already miserable, he would be now, though for entirely different reasons. Guilt sat heavy in his stomach, leaden and lumpen and misshaped. He didn’t think he could eat another bite. He stared into the pale broth, rotated the spoon around the inside, and frowned.

Ezra’s voice startled him from the open doorway. “You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s—”

“My mother made better,” Ezra admitted, his hand brushing the back of his head. In his other hand was a small roll. “And we always had…”

“Ezra, it’s fine.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s good. Thank you. Just—” And because Kanan’s life was the worst, he chose that moment to cough. Which only made Ezra rush forward. Once he caught his breath, he said, “I’m fine.”

Ezra’s hand was cool on his face, feathering across his cheek and over his forehead. “You’re running a temperature.” Kanan wanted to swat Ezra’s hand away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it and Ezra didn’t seem terribly inclined to remove it. And Kanan couldn’t help leaning into it. Ezra’s palm was cool and smooth except for the telltale callouses along the base and across the inside of his fingers. It was good to feel Ezra’s touch on his skin.

Realistically, he knew he didn’t actually feel better because Ezra was there, but it sure seemed like he did.

“Kanan, I…” Ezra bit his lip and looked away. He took a deep breath and shuddered, but though Kanan expected him to finally step back, he didn’t. And so, more daring than he had any right to be, Kanan gripped Ezra by the wrist. And all that succeeded in doing was make Ezra suck in a deep breath.

“Thank you,” Kanan said, “for the soup. For—” His brows furrowed as he considered his next words. He swallowed. “Will you stay?”

As Kanan’s heart thudded in his chest, he waited for Ezra to do something, anything, to indicate that he’d heard what Kanan asked of him. His throat seemed to dry all the more and he nearly snapped at Ezra when he didn’t reply right away. But then all the fight seemed to drain from Ezra and he resumed his seat on the edge of Kanan’s bed. It was ridiculous that Kanan should be happy about this. They were grown men and it wasn’t like Kanan was dying.

Yet here Kanan was, fighting the urge to smile.

He took hold of Ezra’s hand, squeezed tightly. “Thank you, Ezra.”

“You said that already.” He shifted a little bit closer, studying Kanan, no doubt seeing all the things Kanan wasn’t really trying to hide anymore. He was miserable when he’d intended to spend the week with the person he cared about most, taking it easy and relaxing for once. Getting sick was never part of that plan.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled then, not entirely willing to speak the words as forcefully as they deserved to be said. This was his fault. And now Ezra would be doing his own work and more of Kanan’s than Kanan liked. He already felt foolish. Admitting to it seemed like so much more than he was capable of doing. How pathetic it was, this whole scheme. Of course it would blow up in his face this way. He didn’t deserve any differently now.

Ezra scoffed and shifted even closer to Kanan, taking the bowl from him and setting it aside. He peered at Kanan, his nose inches from Kanan’s face. His eyes searched for something that Kanan wasn’t sure he wanted found.

And then Ezra darted up and pressed a kiss against Kanan’s forehead. “Don’t be,” he said, lips lingering against Kanan’s skin. “I don’t mind.”

Kanan huffed. He didn’t feel better exactly, but that hardly mattered when Ezra was so close. He smelled so familiar, so comforting, that Kanan wanted to wrap his arms around Ezra’s shoulders and pull him closer, bury his face against Ezra’s neck and inhale. “You’re going to end up sick, too, if you’re not careful.”

“I don’t care,” Ezra mumbled, but he shifted away anyway.

Before Kanan could mourn this fact, Ezra shoved at him and hip checked him to the far side of the bed. “Ezra.”

“What?” Ezra didn’t bother explaining himself, but in a way, he didn’t really need to. The kiss said everything it needed to and then some. Still, Kanan didn’t dare hope. Even so…

It was a kiss. Whatever else it was, it was that first and foremost. Why he’d picked now and whether it was meant to be anything more than a comforting gesture were questions Kanan didn’t want to think about too closely. Because thinking about it would require coming back to reality. And reality dictated that the kiss was only meant to be a comforting, compassionate gesture.

Then, Ezra stretched out alongside Kanan and laced their fingers together as he shifted closer, a warm, heavy weight against his side. That had to mean something, right? It wasn’t just Kanan’s fevered imagination?

“You should rest,” Ezra said as though none of this was out of the ordinary, like he did this sort of thing all the time.

Kanan cleared his throat. His stomach plummeted and swooped around his midsection, fear at war with the rest of him. “We should talk about this.” What he’d meant to say was, _we shouldn’t do this at all_. What he meant was, _why are you doing this. Do you know what it means? To me?_

Ezra sighed and pushed himself up, looking down at Kanan, backlit though the lights were already pretty dim. “I thought it was obvious,” Ezra admitted. His eyes flicked down to look at Kanan’s mouth. A smile quirked at the corner, twitching, there and gone. “I know why you pulled this mission. I don’t know if you would have said anything, but… you got it for us so we’d be able to spend some time alone together, right?” There was a glint in Ezra’s eyes, hungry, that Kanan recognized. He felt the mirror of it in his own heart. “So let’s spend some time together.”

He reached up and brushed his fingers across Ezra’s chin. Ezra’s eyelids fluttered shut and he leaned into the touch. That definitely wasn’t Kanan’s imagination. It couldn’t have been.

“You mean…?” Kanan asked, had to ask, couldn’t not ask.

Ezra smiled and pressed a kiss against Kanan’s palm. “Yeah,” he answered. “I do.” Quick as lightning, Ezra flopped back onto the bed, huffing a laugh. “Glad we’re on the same page finally. Just when you’ve gotten sick, too. You couldn’t have picked a better time.”

Though Kanan groaned, he knew Ezra wasn’t wrong. Part of him was still numb, couldn’t entirely believe what Ezra was saying, what he’d done. His palm still buzzed where Ezra’s lips had touched it. The rest of him felt lighter than it had in ages. “When have I ever picked the right time to do anything?”

Shaking his head, Ezra snorted. “I wish I had a holo of this moment just for that admission.”

“You’ll just have to settle for hearing it now,” he answered, gruff and not a little amused despite how miserable he felt. “I’m not saying it again.”

“Once is enough.” Ezra yawned and snuggled as close as he could get while Kanan snaked his arm around Ezra’s shoulder. He couldn’t believe they could have this now, that Ezra wanted it. “We’ll get you feeling better in no time, enjoy the rest of this mission the way you intended us to.”

If Ezra woke the next morning with a suspicious sniffle, at least Kanan felt far more human by comparison and could return the favor if need be. “Rise and shine, Ezra,” he said, clapping his grumbling apprentice on the shoulder.

He really did feel remarkably good for how lousy he’d felt yesterday.

If it came down to it, he thought today he might be able to make some soup of his own. From the sound of Ezra’s rasping voice when he told Kanan to go away, Ezra would need it.

Kanan smiled. He could handle it from here.


End file.
